INSTITUTE OF ETHNOLOGY AND FOLKLORE STUD-

IES WITH ETHNOGRAPHIC MUSEUM

BULGARIAN ACADEMY OF SCIENCES

E-collection of Conference Proceedings

B ETWEEN
THE W ORLDS:
MAGIC, MIRACLES,
AND MYSTICISM

Vol. 2

Edited by:
Mila Maeva
Yelis Erolova
Plamena Stoyanova
Mina Hristova
Vanya Ivanova

Paradigma
Sofia • 2020
 S PIRIT POSSESSION,
JAVANESE MAGIC AND ISLAM:
CURRENT STATE OF AFFAIRS

Eva Rapoport

Abstract: When religious affairs in Indonesia (casually glossed as a country with the
largest Muslim population) grab international attention that mostly comes down to Is-
lam and attempts of further Islamisation of the Archipelago. However, local forms of
syncretic and pre-Islamic mysticism, magic and spirit beliefs persist and their adherents
keep fighting for recognition on the state level (as Indonesian freedom of religion is lim-
ited to the choice between several state-recognised confessions).
The objective of this paper is to discuss how pre-Islamic beliefs exist and persist among
the Javanese (the largest ethnic group in both Indonesia and entire Southeast Asia),
alongside with Islam and despite the advances of modernity. A more detailed outlook
on the contestation and resistance is meant to be based on the example of traditional
dance known as jathilan or kuda kepang. Trance (believed to be caused by the spir-
its possessing the dancers’ bodies) constitutes the main attraction of the performance
which is commonly held on various celebratory occasions (marriages, circumcisions,
village festivities and even national holidays). During the past two decades, it has been
enjoying an ever-growing popularity and nowadays most of the shows are advertised
via social media. The resilience of the trance dance is meant to be analysed by super-
imposing its own specific features against the background of the national religious and
cultural policies.
Keywords: spirit possession, performing arts, Javanese culture, indigenous religions,
Islam

S peaking of spirits
During the past few years Indonesia kept making international headlines with var-
ious instances of political and religious controversies splitting the population of the
country.17 But on the local level things might appear far from being that dramatic. Com-
munal celebrations in Javanese village settings can present an idyllic alternative space
where tensions seem to be non-existent (or, at least, very well-hidden), where grandfa-
ther, wearing a Muslim skullcap and an Iron Maiden t-shirt would be hosting a trance

17 The most widely publicised case involved blasphemy allegations against the Jakarta governor Basuki Tjahaja
Purnama, better known as Ahok, a Christian of Chinese descent. Islamist anti-Ahok rallies had shaken the capital city in
the late 2016 and resulted in the governor’s imprisonment (see Peterson, 2020).

94
 P ART II • MYSTICAL AND MAGICAL BOUNDARIES OF RELIGION
performance to celebrate his granddaughter’s first birthday, and a charming little kid
will stay around the stage for hours undisturbed by the loud percussive gamelan music
and extreme behaviour of the entranced dancers.
The performance in question is known by the names kuda kepang, jaranan or jathi-
lan, with kuda in Indonesian and jaran in Javanese both meaning ‘horse’, for the hall-
mark props of the performance are painted flat horse effigies made of woven bamboo.
Colourfully dressed dancers represent noble Javanese warriors of the pre-Islamic era;
they perform choreographed dance routine, at times engage in mock or almost-real
fights using whips or wooden swords and eventually work themselves into the state of
trance. While in trance, they demonstrate all kinds of wild uncontrolled behaviour:
roam around with their eyes closed, bumping into each other, roll on the ground, som-
ersault, scream, run on all four.
From the emic perspective, trance is understood to be an effect of spirit posses-
sion – thus, ancestral, territorial, and animal spirits are believed to enter the dancers’
bodies. This way the spirits, too, can partake in the communal celebrations and are
entitled to having all their needs satisfied – be that a request for particular song or just
speeding up music tempo, burning incense or spilling fragrant potion, or any kinds of
food from ordinary human snacks to unhusked rice, flower petals, green leaves, whole
coconuts (that performers husk with just their teeth and hands) or even hot coals, razor
blades and shuttered glass.
Most of my research of the horse dances was focused on the Special Region of Yog-
yakarta – an area truly special in so many respects: a unique administrative unit within
the Republic of Indonesia that is still being governed by a sultan; an exemplary hub for
all the things cultural: from traditional arts and crafts, to international contemporary
art biennales, from refined and solemn court ceremonies to lively and unruly street art
scene; and also a centre of the higher education with literally over a hundred public
and private universities concentrated in the region with a population under 4 million
people.18 Most typical name for the horse dance in Yogyakarta and neighbouring areas
is jathilan, so it would be further used to refer to the tradition in this paper.
During the time I have spent in Yogyakarta working on research of jathilan in 2017
and 2018, even when not conducting any planned interviews19, I got engaged in end-
less conversations about magical and mystical matters which were almost automatically
triggered by me mentioning my research interest. While jathilan itself remains mostly
popular among the villagers and lower-income urbanites, virtually every interlocutor

18 According to the 2019 Population by Regency census, the Special Region of Yogyakarta had 3.8 million people
(Badan Pusat Statistics (Central Statistics Agency)).
19 Being well-familiar with the tradition of jathilan from my prior experience of living in Yogyakarta (2013–2015), I
have performed six months of fieldwork in June – August 2017 and July – October 2018, during which I have documented
over two dozen performances and conducted lengthy in-depth interviews with practitioners, enthusiasts and local experts
and short structured interviews with the audience members.

95
was eager to share some spirit-related stories20, including many young university-edu-
cated middle-class people, a sufficient number of whom had quite a good proficiency in
English (which they were happy to practice with a foreigner); even many fellow Western
researchers working in Indonesia and Malaysia were ready to share some stories about
their encounters with the unseen world (alam gaib).

Pic. 1. Young dancer with horse effigy and wooden sword – Yogyakarta, Indonesia, 2018.
Photo: Eva Rapoport.
Many of the stories include the recurring motives regarding where the most fear-
some spirits and vile black magic are coming from. And these are always some liminal
spaces: westernmost and easternmost regions of Java: Banten and Banyuwangi (Beatty,
2012: 175) and also Kalimantan – a vast island still mostly covered with jungle, there-
fore having significantly less development and infrastructure compared to densely pop-
ulated Java where several of Indonesia’s largest cities are located. But even for Java itself,
there is persistent demarcation between human and spirit domains, thus, the latter are
20 Benedict Anderson in his memoir also mentions eagerness of the Javanese to bring up ghosts in a conversation
(2018: 78).

96
 P ART II • MYSTICAL AND MAGICAL BOUNDARIES OF RELIGION
believed to prevail in the wilderness: on mountain slopes and in the forests. Though,
while geographically spirits are somehow set apart, they clearly occupy a prominent
place in the people’s imagination.
For instance, at the onset of the coronavirus pandemic, some areas in a search for
efficient but also creative ways to enforce stay-at-home measures were employing local
residents dressed as pocong (a ghost that looks like a dead body wrapped in white burial
shroud) to patrol their neighbourhoods at night21 (Makur, 2020), or even locking people
who did not want to follow quarantine rules in an allegedly haunted house (Hastanto,
2020).
Spirit beliefs and varying degrees of spirit worship are typical to most of the South-
east Asian cultures (majority and minority ones, mainland and maritime alike) which
allows for the hypothesis regarding a shared prehistoric animistic religion spread all
over the Monsoon Asia22 long before the emergence of Hinduism and Buddhism and
later Christianity and Islam. Java itself used to be the domain of syncretic Hindu-Bud-
dhism since, at least, the 5th century and before the spread of Islam by the late 15th
century (Acri, 2015: 261). Thus, nowadays many of the surviving pre-Islamic beliefs
are likely to be labelled as Hindu, which may be rather seen as an attempt to give them
more respectability (considering that Hinduism in Indonesia is an officially recognised
religion, professed by the majority of Balinese population). However, beliefs regarding
village guardian spirits still to greater or lesser extent reflected in the annual village
purification ceremonies (bersih desa or, in Yogyakarta, merti dusun) seem to be more
in line with the idea of the ancient Monsoon Asia’s religion, that is described as being
centred around the cults of territorial spirits, so-called lords of the soil (Mus, 2011 [1933]:
24).23 But, unlike Hinduism and Buddhism, animism has never achieved the same level
of recognition by the Indonesian state.
In this paper, I will attempt to discuss some of the Javanese notions related to spirit
beliefs in general and the tradition of the horse trance dances in particular, and subse-

21 The result turned out to be controversial, as many people were actually tempted to go outside and take selfies with
the ‘ghosts’.
22 The concept of Monsoon Asia was used by Paul Mus (2011 [1933]) precisely in the context of theorising about
pre-Hindu-Buddhist beliefs; later endorsed by Arci et al. (2017) aiming to emphasise the intensity and significance of
maritime connections that defined local cultures since the ancient times and also to challenge the disciplinary boundaries
of regional studies. ‘From a geographical perspective, [Monsoon Asia] may be conceptualised as the belt of territory
spanning from the eastern shores of the Indian Subcontinent (and their hinterlands) in the west to the South China
Sea, the Philippine islands and Papua New Guinea in the west. Its fulcrums are the littorals of peninsular and mainland
Southeast Asia, and what is now the Malay-Indonesian Archipelago or Nusantara’ (Ibid., 4–5). But even within the
framework of Southeast Asian studies the concept of monsoon religion (Mus, 2011 [1933]: 23) allows to look into the
similarities of spirit beliefs professed by the members of different ethnic and language groups.
23 Margaret Kartomi points out that ‘trance in both Bali and Java is almost certainly pre-Hindu in origin’ (1973: 164),
unfortunately without attempting any further explanations. Many authors prefer to avoid speaking of the origins of
the horse dances altogether, likely due to the lack of written sources – the earliest ones date back to the 19th century
(Groenendael, 2008: 13). However, the presence of the dance in the pockets of Javanese culture that have escaped
Islamisation – such as Tengger Highlands (Mauricio, 2002: 46) testifies, at least, to its pre-Islamic origins.

97
quently outline the context in which the following beliefs and practices exist nowadays:
that of officially dominating Islam and rather peculiar national religious and cultural
policies affecting contested balance between doctrinal faith (agama) and indigenous
animist beliefs (aliran kepercayaan).

M ass miracles
Unlike a variety of religious miracles and revelations that are likely to be experi-
enced by individuals or limited groups of devotees (be that Madonna’s apparitions in
Lourdes and Fatima or obscure sightings of the holy images on toasted bread), trance in
jathilan is a public affair where the contact with the mystical world, alam gaib is being
established in front of a mass audience.
Performance of a prominent group can be viewed by a few hundreds of people
(Kartomi, 1973: 168), especially considering that traditional spectacles in Java are rarely
watched from the beginning till end (Beatty, 1999: 70; Keeler, 1987: 15), so while some
spectators might eventually leave, others will arrive to take their place.
Remarkably, many Javanese are suspicious about the authenticity of trance in jathi-
lan (Kim, 2007: 157–158; numerous personal communications, 2017–2018), but this
comes hand-in-hand with having a little doubt in the possibility of spirit possession
and the existence of spirits as such. Stories and even news reports about spontaneous
possessions disrupting the course of everyday life abound: high schoolers are believed
to become possessed when facing the need to take a standardised test, and local politi-
cians seek exorcism in order to recover from the failure to win an election (Wargadired-
ja, 2019a, 2019b). Even scriptural Islam does not refute the notion of non-human agents
equipped with the special powers, including the ability to possess humans: jinns are
also believed to be the part of Allah’s creation, however orthodox religion explicitly dis-
courages any forms of interaction with them (Bubandt, 2019: 103; Kim, 2007: 150–151).
From the spectators’ perspective, it is the demonstration of feats of physical invul-
nerability that is meant to prove the trance to be real: the most frequent displays would
include getting whipped (without sustaining any visible damage), husking green coco-
nuts, eating shattered glass (the latter, in case of Yogyakarta, is more often described as
the key feature of jathilan rather than actually performed). More exotic versions might
involve biting a live snake’s head off, being run over by a motorcycle, eating uncooked
roots or leaves that normally would make one’s mouth very itchy, various ways of liter-
ally playing with fire.
It is worth pointing out that the feats of invulnerability may actually be the closest
thing to a stage magic that jathilan has. In an environment, radically different from the
rural Javanese setting – in Singapore, the horse dance is also performed, better known
by the name of kuda kepang. It was brought to the city-state by Javanese immigrants
in the late 1940s (Hardwick, 2014: 2) and is still performed among their descendants,

98
 P ART II • MYSTICAL AND MAGICAL BOUNDARIES OF RELIGION
despite being criticised by the local Islamic authorities, and even from a secular point of
view perceived as an unruly practice leading to noisy social gatherings and damage to
public property. Survival strategy adopted by some of the practitioners was a deliberate
course on the disenchantment of kuda kepang performances. Those still feature feats
involving whips and shattered glass, but the leader of one of the groups and the founder
of the Kuda Kepang Singapura organisation, Iswandiarjo bin Wismodiarjo (also known
as Wandi), openly and eagerly speaks on public and private occasions about how exactly
to prepare the glass and use the whips to protect performers from actual harm. To avoid
religious criticism, he shifts focus from reliance on Javanese mysticism (kebatinan) to
confidence (keyakinan) rooted in proper preparation but also belief in God (Hardwick,
2014: 16, Rapoport, 2019: 91). Though, even Wandi admits that his strategy doesn’t come
from the place of disbelief in Javanese magic and mysticism – he is sure it is still pre-
served and practiced in Java. It is just the Singaporean context, where Malay24 and Mus-
lim identities are tied closer together, that requires certain re-contextualisation of the
performance in order for it to survive.
Thus, the horse dances present a mixed bag of tricks and genuine manifestations
of possession trance25, in terms of Erica Bourguignon (1973: 12), an altered state of con-
sciousness that is believed to be caused by non-human agents – spirits or deities. Scep-
ticism that can be directed towards a particular performance of a particular group co-
exists with the broadly shared beliefs in spirits, spirit possession and various ascetic
and other esoteric practices that can help to obtain physical invulnerability and powers
to command spirits. Furthermore, beliefs in practices and amulets leading to physical
invulnerability go far beyond the context of the horse dance performances in Javanese
case (Keeler, 1987: 81–82, 99; Willson, 2011: 303–305) and can be as well found in other
Southeast Asian cultures (e.g., Guelden, 2017: 121, 137). And while there may be tech-
niques for safely handling whips and glass, striking change in the bodily movements
of the dancers at the onset of the trance phase of the performance, the way they start
roaming around with a complete abandon (for that matter the performance area is cus-
tomarily surrounded with a makeshift bamboo fence) with their eyes closed or with a
blank stare, how they roll over, collapse and get up again only with the help from the
assistants, allow to assume a certain shift from the normal waking consciousness.
But while the dancers are the ones who perform spectacular feats and impersonate
spirits by acting wildly, of a paramount importance for jathilan performances is the
figure of a pawang or trance master – a person of mystical learning (ilmu or ngelmu) and
innate supernatural gift (kasekten). It is fully the pawang’s responsibility to interact with

24 In case of Singapore, being ‘Malay’ is identified in a broad sense that includes Muslim descendants of the pre-colonial
inhabitants of the island, Muslim immigrants from the Malay Peninsula, as well as those from various parts of modern
Indonesia.
25 In local terms, the altered state of consciousness experienced by the performers is often described as kesurupan,
ndadi or mabuk.

99
the spirits, inviting them to join the performance, making sure they will not possess
spectators or musicians (which occasionally, nevertheless, happens: see Christensen,
2014: 108; Kartomi, 1973: 172; Kim, 2007: 156; Mauricio, 2002: 35) and convince them to
leave the dancers’ bodies at the end of the show. The figure of the pawang comes in close
proximity to the one of the dhukun – another type of Javanese mystical specialist, who
could be in charge of a wide variety of practices: from traditional ceremonies, to heal-
ing, massage and midwifery, to feared and despised black magic (Geertz, 1960: 86–111;
Koentjaraningrat, 1989 [1985]: 114–124). At times, terms ‘pawang’ and ‘dhukun’ may be
used interchangeably, however most of the regional variations of the horse dances also
have their specific terms for the trance masters (e.g., gambuh in East Java (Groenendael,
2008: 25) and penimbul in Central Java to the West of Yogyakarta (Marscall, 1995: 100).

Pic. 2. Pawang soothing entranced performer – Yogyakarta, Indonesia, 2015. Photo: Eva
Rapoport.
Many pawangs also serve as the leaders of their performing groups and the own-
ers of most of the props and music instruments that it uses (Groenendael, 2008: 48);

100
 P ART II • MYSTICAL AND MAGICAL BOUNDARIES OF RELIGION
but even if a group has a lay leader whose forte might be management and logistics,
pawang still would play a prominent role. And it is exactly the pawang who makes the
offerings before the performance (mostly a combination of food, flower petals and in-
cense) – inviting the spirits to come; at times even holding a special ceremony a few days
prior to the performance, informing the spirits of a particular area about the planned
celebration and, in a sense, securing their permission to hold one, thus ensuring that
everything will go smoothly. Relative success or failure of every performance are often
explained in magical terms: powerful pawangs are believed to attract large audiences
due to their powers, which are, thus, seen as a factor more crucial than the group’s in-
dividual music and choreography style.26 Pawangs’ powers are also believed to be in use
for crowd control: to avoid any outbursts of drunken and disorderly behaviour. But if
such outbursts still occur or the spirits might prove to be not so compliant, that might
be assumed to be a result of the deliberate sabotage by some rival pawang (Foley, 1985:
31). While extreme wildness of the show can be actually appreciated, an undisputable
indication of its failure is an instance when none or very few dancers manage to achieve
trance.
A single jathilan group may have more than one pawang or at least a number of
pawang’s assistants, also capable of bringing the performers back from their trance – a
skill that, to certain extent, pawangs say, can be mastered by anyone (Rapoport, 2018: 8),
however really powerful pawangs are believed to be only the ones that are marked with
a special gift (Burridge, 1961: 34). By contrast, and, in a sense, because of the pawang’s
leading role, it is believed that virtually anyone can be a dancer and has a capacity to
enter trance during the performance (Foley, 1985: 36; Marscall, 1995: 101). Thus, the
figure of the pawang lifts most, if not all, the mystical responsibility from the dancers,
who are then only expected to master a relatively uncomplicated choreographic routine.
This accessibility and rather egalitarian nature can be seen as one of the keys to
jathilan’s popularity. Performers admit that whomever they already know and have a
good relationship with is welcome to join the group (personal communication with
the members of Kudho Praneso group, July 22, 2017). Neither esoteric (kebatinan) nor
performing arts backgrounds are required. And performing jathilan is not a full-time
vocation: most of the pawangs and dancers maintain their day jobs (many of them are
employed as drivers, motorcycle parking attendants, locksmiths, laundry workers, etc.).
While hosting a village performance in Yogyakarta area in the late 2010s could have
cost up to 7 million Indonesian rupiahs (about 450–500 USD) – a significant sum, by
the local standards, most of it is meant to be covering logistics expenses, renting sound
equipment, sometimes even costumes. Thus, individual share of every person involved
in a performance would be rather modest, at best.
26 Even success of local stores or food vendors, at times, is believed to be achieved not due to the attraction of their
goods and services, but due to some magical effort of the business owners or dukuns acting on their behalf (Pak Samsul
(pawang and leader of Kudho Nalendro jathilan group), personal communication, August 3, 2017).

101
 B ETWEEN THE WORLDS: MAGIC, MIRACLES, AND MYSTICISM
In turn, from the hosts’ side, sponsoring a performance, customarily combined
with a ceremonial feast (slametan) is not exactly an individual choice and decision but
an element of maintaining ties and obligations within a community largely based on
the reciprocity. So, neighbours and family members are expected to contribute labour
and money for a particular family’s celebration and are entitled to equal contributions
in return. Feasts and performances are expected to accompany most of the important
life-cycle events: marriages, circumcisions, nowadays even birthdays.
In terms of kebatinan, a wedding couple, a newly circumcised boy, or a newborn
baby and its mother, all suffer particular vulnerability to spirits’ attacks. In the
bright lights, noise, crowds, and bustle of the ritual celebration, a family gains
protection from spirits’ interference.

.Pic. 3. Three pawangs perform exorcism of a female dancer – Yogyakarta, Indonesia, 2017.
Photo: Eva Rapoport.
What Ward Keeler (1987: 151) describes can be perfectly applicable to jathilan,
however he is talking about wayang kulit (shadow puppet) performances. The horse
dances present only one type (of many) of such performances that can be embedded
in the system of communal celebrations. And while among the Javanese arts wayang
kulit is probably the best known on the global scale, the horse dances nowadays may
have even greater appeal to the public: holding a wayang is likely to be more expensive,
furthermore, many young Javanese complain that they have hard time understanding

102
 P ART II • MYSTICAL AND MAGICAL BOUNDARIES OF RELIGION
a more refined rather than everyday speech language of the wayang performances. And
jathilan succeeds in being suspenseful and emotionally engaging without help of any
language and narrative, merely due to its structure: by building tension and expecta-
tions through the opening choreographed part, by turning from order into chaos at the
onset of the trance stage, and culminating in the ‘final battle’ when pawangs and their
assistants perform exorcism on the dancers, which can also be dramatic and intense in
its own way.
It is exactly controlled chaos and unpredictability that set every single performance
apart from any other. Moreover, involvement of the spirits as non-human agents acting
through the human bodies that they are believed to possess, justifies a carnivalesque (in
Michail Bakhtin’s terms (1984)) breach of the norms of everyday social conduct, which
is especially sticking in Javanese society known for its high expectations of individu-
als to maintain harmony and stay polite and reserved, no matter the circumstances.
Dancers should feel no shame (Groenendael, 2008: 19) and take no responsibility for
the actions of the spirits temporarily taking control of their bodies. And again, the very
idea of giving up control goes against the usual Javanese notions of self and conduct
(Kartomi, 1973: 165).
Interestingly, there is no single opinion about the actual nature of the spirits pos-
sessing the dancers in jathilan. They can be called by many different names, some with
Arabic origins and connotations: jinn, setan, roh (Wessing, 2006: 13); or belong to the
rich Javanese lore: dhemit (forest spirits), leluhur (ancestors), dhaynyang (tutelary spirit).
However, the Javenese ones now seem easier to find in the earlier ethnographic accounts
(Geertz, 1960: 16–29; Koentjaraningrat, (1989 [1985]): 338–343), rather than in the pres-
ent-day informants’ own speech. The last of the aforementioned, dhanyang – a territo-
rial or local guardian spirit, allows to connect Javanese beliefs with Paul Mus’s concept
of the monsoon religion revolving around the ‘lords of the soil’ (2011 [1933]: 24); and
this, in turn, could attest to the pre-Hindu-Buddhist origins of Javanese spirit beliefs
and performing traditions. Dyanyang might be considered as the main recipient of the
performance: among other typical occasions to hold jathilan or wayang kulit perfor-
mance (or both), important place belongs to bersih desa – an annual village purification
ceremony meant to appease the local guardian spirit and ensure good luck for another
year and good harvest for the next planting season. On any other occasion, dhanyang
can be still perceived as the main authority to be contacted for the permission to have
a trance performance; and it is, in some cases, believed to manifest itself by possessing
one of the dancers (Beatty, 1999: 89).
As among jinn in Islam may be found those who have surrendered themselves to
Allah and those who remained unjust (Kim, 2007: 150), somehow similarly dhanyangs
(who are often associated with legendary or historical founders of the village) can also
have different religious identities and be either purely Javanese or strictly Muslim

103
(Wessing, 2006: 13). This religious identity can further define the types of performances
that the dhanyang prefers to be celebrated with (Geertz, 1960: 27; Keeler, 1987: 166). So,
while Javanese dhanyang would enjoy shadow puppets and horse dances, a Muslim one
may highly disapprove of those and prefer different, more solemn genres involving re-
citing of the Koran. Thus, the same kind of performance may actually lead to good luck
in one area and bad luck in another, if it does not conform to the local guardian’s tastes.

T he hard and the tamed 27

The opposition between Javanese (preceding Islam and possibly Hindu-Buddhism)

and Islamic modes of beliefs is defined by most of the researchers, following Clifford
Geertz (1960), as the divide between abangan and santri. With abangan being the ones
who would put their Javanese identity before Islam, their beliefs can be also called ke-
jawen – literally Javanism. While the term abangan may be casually explained as re-
ferring to nominal or syncretic Muslims, abangan attitude towards Islam can actually
lie anywhere on the spectrum from the observance of certain Islamic precepts, though
without abandoning magic and spirit beliefs and specific Javanese metaphysics (that can
be very roughly described as pantheistic and individual-centred (Mulder, 1983: 260–
261); to complete rejection and opposition to Islam. Santri, in turn, are the proponents
of pure Islam, based on the scripture and purged from the elements of local customs
and interpretations. The term santri in a narrow sense defines the students of pesant-
ren – Islamic boarding schools.
The phenomenon of pesantren had contributed to the significant step towards Isla-
misation of Java. A spread of such schools occurred over the course of the 19th century,
when the introduction of steamships allowed people to perform Haj at a lower cost
and within shorter time, while the growth of a well-to-do urban class in Java led to the
increase in the number of people being able to take the journey (Ricklefs, 2012: 14). So,
these were mainly the returning pilgrims who brought home more strict and pure vi-
sion of what Islam should be and the desire to implement it.
Another significant advance of Islam at the expense of abangan beliefs and prac-
tices occurred after 1965. The infamous Indonesian Killings that started as a reaction to
the failed coup, allegedly plotted by the Communist Party of Indonesia (Partai Komunis
Indonesia, PKI), led to the prosecution of actual PKI members, along with innumerous
others, suspected or accused of being PKI sympathisers. Some historians point out that,
especially in the rural areas, the reason for animosity might have been not so much a
political but rather a religious divide between santri and abangan; with many of the lat-
ter being actual supporters of PKI or at least leaning in that direction, whereas hard-line
Muslims always stayed in strong opposition to it (Cribb, 2004: 233; Ricklefs, 2012: 77).
Ever since its earliest years, the citizens of the Republic of Indonesia were expected
27 The opposition borrowed from Kevin O. Browne (2003).

104
 P ART II • MYSTICAL AND MAGICAL BOUNDARIES OF RELIGION
to identify with a certain religion, and it was always the Muslim-dominated Ministry
of Religion in charge of deciding what religions and according to what criteria could be
officially recognised. Their approach was clearly based on the general ideas of mono-
theism and the concept of world religion: thus, in order to be recognised by the state,
religion was expected to be revealed by God, possess a prophet and a holy book, have a
codified system of law for its followers, and, furthermore, it should enjoy international
recognition and not be limited to a single ethnic group (Picard, 2011: 13). Even for In-
donesian adherents of Buddhism and Balinese Hinduism it took quite some intellectual
effort and ingenuity to achieve full recognition (see Abalahin, 2005). But after the wave
of anti-communist sentiment had shaken the country, religious affiliation has become
a particularly pressing matter. So, to prove themselves not to be godless communists or
abangan communist supporters, people had to officially identify themselves as Mus-
lims or convert into Christianity, Hinduism or Buddhism (conversions turned out to
be quite a wide-spread trend among the Indonesians appalled by the atrocities that in
many parts of the country were clearly connected to the groups explicitly associated
with Islam (Ricklefs, 2012: 130).

Pic. 4. ‘Possessed’ performer running on all four – Yogyakarta, Indonesia, 2018. Photo: Eva
Rapoport.

105
 Religious affiliation, chosen from five available options (Islam, Catholicism, Prot-
estantism, Hinduism and Buddhism28), had to be indicated in the national ID card
(Kartu Tanda Penduduk – KTP). For all the religious groups without official recogni-
tion it meant that marriage performed according to their rites would not be considered
legal, children born in such union – extramarital; school curriculum included compul-
sory religions education in one of the five faiths; even the use of electricity, alongside
with many other civil rights and services, required an ID card listing official religion
(Swazey, 2017: 8).
Everything beyond the scope of the recognised religions was branded as mere be-
liefs (kepercayaan). Kepercayaan or aliran kepercayaan (streams of beliefs) included not
only abangan in Java but numerous adherents of various tribal animisms all over Indo-
nesia. While still not being treated on the same ground as recognised religions (agama),
in 1978 kepercayaan were considered to be a part of culture (budaya) and therefore
placed under the jurisdiction of the Ministry of Education and Culture. That provided
the representatives of kepercayaan with some degree of independence, as well as access
to resources and institutional position from which they could lobby some of their inter-
ests. Later on, during the Reformation (Reformasi) period that came after the collapse
of Suharto’s regime, in 1999, the Ministry of Education and Culture was restructured
and kepercayaan were redirected to be handled by the newly established Ministry of
Culture and Tourism, causing a general loosening in their surveillance (Picard, 2011:
18). And, finally, only in 2017 Indonesia’s Constitutional Court ruled to allow for aliran
kepercayaan to be used as the seventh option of religious affiliation to be indicated in
the national IDs. That was still met with the strong pushback from the modernist and
fundamentalist Islamic organisations, and it deserves to be the topic of a separate dis-
cussion, whether any significant changes following the 2017 ruling have really occurred.
On the one hand, the Killings of 1965–66 had largely affected not only religious
beliefs but also performing practices. Even those who were lucky not to be murdered
or detained, preferred to put their activities on hold, not to attract unwanted attention.
But, on the other hand, the New Order (Orde Baru) regime that was established in the
result of the Killings, started to implement cultural policies largely directed towards
support and promotion of traditional performing arts. The regime’s objective was to
shift focus from its own problematic origins, and to set itself apart from the old regime
(Orde Lama) that it came to replace. The bet was made on explicitly turning to tradi-
tional culture ‘as a point of reference that might override the terror of the New Order’s
own origins by appearing to rescue customs from a more distant past in the post-1965
present’ (Pemberton, 1994: 150). Revolutionary era of the struggle for Independence
and tumultuous rule of the first Indonesian president Sukarno was replaced by the re-
28 Confucianism, as the sixth choice, was excluded from the list in 1967 (and reinstated only in 2000) as a part of the
wider anti-Chinese policies since ethnic Chinese (suspected in the sympathies to Communist China) were also subjected
to the persecution in the course of Indonesian killings (Abalahin, 2005: 128).

106
 P ART II • MYSTICAL AND MAGICAL BOUNDARIES OF RELIGION
action of the authoritarian rule of the second president Suharto.
Certainly, it was not in the nature of the authoritarian regime to simply let per-
forming practices and traditional forms of expression be. While the general idea of tra-
ditional culture was raised on the pedestal, it was not exactly the true living culture that
was supported by the state, but a carefully created construct. One of the major ideas was
to cherry-pick regional performing genres that can represent Indonesia on the national
level, while ridding the selected art forms of any elements that might have been deemed
backward, unruly, or otherwise controversial (Yampolsky, 1995: 702–704).
‘Repackaging’ traditional performances served, and quite well, dual purposes: first,
running the distraction in the light of the recent atrocities, while also making sure that
the sphere of artistic expression would be occupied by some safe and tame forms, free
from attempts to make a political commentary; and, secondly, since it was the Ministry
of Education and Culture put in charge of managing unrecognised religious beliefs,
promoting modified forms of performances and even rituals (considering, strict divide
between the two not necessarily being essential for traditional cultures) proved to be
an easier and more efficient way in implementing control, rather than strictly banning
animist and syncretic rites and ceremonies. Ethnic and religious minorities were al-
lowed to carry on their traditions, but they were carefully guided by the government
employees in doing so. Or as Greg Acciaioli puts it: ‘Regional diversity is valued, hon-
oured, even apotheosised, but only as long as it remains at the level of display, not belief,
performance, not enactment’ (2010: 161).
This peculiar trend has survived even beyond the lifespan of the New Order regime.
While a wide variety of traditional performing arts in Java and across Indonesia enjoy
remarkable popularity, the directives regarding how, where and when those should be
performed are still largely coming from the local departments of tourism, or culture, or
the system of art institutes (Institut Seni Indonesia – ISI), rather than being defined by
the elders passing down their tradition to younger generation.
However, the horse dances, to some extent, represent a lucky exception. Clearly,
in their original form they could not comply with the state’s cultural policies, but, at
the same time, since both groups and performances could have been organised on the
lowest grassroots level, there was no crucial need in any official support for survival of
the practice.
In present-day Java, even over two decades since the downfall of Suharto’s regime,
the horse dances can be encountered in two forms: the hard (with trance) and the tamed
or domesticated (without it (Browne, 2003: 57)). Many regencies hold the horse dance
festivals where the performers are expected to showcase their best (in terms of cho-
reography, pageantry, even innovation) but also to be at their best behaviour – which
means going into trance is strictly prohibited. Furthermore, most of these festivals are
held in the form of a contest, so the groups compete for a shiny trophy and a monetary

107
prize. Remarkably, the majority of festival participants are still the groups that include
pawangs and perform trance on other occasions. From the performers’ perspective, at-
traction of such festivals is in the publicity they provide, the groups that distinguish
themselves at a competition are likely to receive more invitations to participate in vil-
lage performances, where nobody will expect them to forego trance. But even in the
festival settings pawangs are not deemed unnecessary. While they don’t perform any
ritual actions in front of the audience, some of the trance masters say, they still have
a role to play: that is to make sure that the spirits will stay away and don’t attempt to
possess the dancers.
However, the state cultural and religious policies still did leave some mark on the
horse dance practitioners. Most of the performers and large numbers of audience mem-
bers that I have interviewed in Yogyakarta, identify jathilan with culture or heritage.
And a common explanation given by the performers for what and why, in the broadest
sense, they are doing was: we are preserving/keeping alive our culture. An answer too
smooth and too common not to be suspected in being a result of some ideological in-
fluence.

C onclusion
The case of jathilan reveals, how government support and involvement in tradi-
tional culture can follow an objective to force the performers to modify their practice,
by ridding it of religiously-controversial and un-modern elements, but also how the
performers themselves can succeed in finding ways to utilise government-sanctioned
activities to their own ends and carry on the tradition, that is significantly older than
Indonesian state itself. Important role in the horse dances’ resilience and endurance is
likely to play the direct grassroots-level interaction between the performers and perfor-
mance sponsors, as well as indisputably central place of performances in local commu-
nal celebrations.
Having little need in the state support, the horse dances tradition survives due to its
own unique features. And it is exactly trance that constitutes its attraction for both au-
diences and participants. Unpredictability and ‘controlled chaos’ of trance make every
show fascinating and one of a kind, feats of invulnerability and the assumption of the
spirits’ involvement can be perceived as some kind of special effects, but unlike Holly-
wood blockbusters that also employ those, jathilan is perfectly local and free to watch.
As well as being entertaining, trance also frees the performers from any responsibility
or shame for the wild behaviour they demonstrate; it also serves as a crucial factor al-
lowing virtually anyone to become a performer, with no special talent or background
required.
Furthermore, the fact that trance performances are welcome in so many Javanese
villages indicates that, despite all the Islamising trends and the lack of equal recognition

108
 P ART II • MYSTICAL AND MAGICAL BOUNDARIES OF RELIGION
on the state level, abangan culture is still alive, and beliefs in spirits, possession and
magic are widely popular. While spectators may allow themselves to doubt what they
see during a particular performance, few, if any, perceive spirit possession as something
strictly impossible. And beyond the context of trance performances, possession can
still be invoked as an idiom for emotional distress, while the spirits’ involvement or
individual magical activities can be brought up as an explanation of a success or a lack
of thereof in a wide variety of mundane situations.

Pic. 5. Non-trance performance at the big two day-long jathilan festival – Yogyakarta, Indone-
sia, 2015. Photo: Eva Rapoport.

109
R eferences:
Abalahin, A. J. (2005) A Sixth Religion? Confucianism and the Negotiation of Indone-
sian-Chinese Identity under the Pancasila State. In: A. C. Willfordand and K. M.
George (eds). Spirited Politics: Religion and Public Life in Contemporary Southeast
Asia. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, pp. 119-142.
Acciaioli, G. (1985) Culture as Art: From Practice to Spectacle in Indonesia. Canberra
Anthropology 8 (1 and 2): 148–172.
Acri, A. (2015) Revisiting the Cult of ‘Śiva-Buddha’ in Java and Bali. In: D. Ch. Lam-
merts (Ed). Buddhist Dynamics in Premodern and Early Modern Southeast Asia.
Singapore: ISEAS Publishing, pp. 261–282.
Acri, A., Blench, R. and Landmann, A. (eds.) (2017) Spirits and Ships: Cultural Transfers
in Early Monsoon Asia. Singapore: ISEAS – Yusof Ishak Institute.
Anderson, B. (2018) A Life Beyond Boundaries: A Memoir. London, New York: Verso.
Bakhtin, M. (1984) Rabelais and His World. Trans. Hélène Iswolsky. Bloomington: In-
diana University Press.
Beatty, A. (1999) Varieties of Javanese Religion: An Anthropological Account. Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press.
Beatty, A. (2012) Kala defanged. Managing power in Java away from the centre. Bijdra-
gen tot de Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 168 (2–3): 173–194.
Bourguignon, E. (1973) Introduction: A Framework for the Comparative Study of Al-
tered States of Consciousness. In: E. Bourguignon (Ed). Religion, Altered States of
Consciousness and Social Change. Columbus: Ohio State University Press, pp. 3-39.
Browne, K. O. (2003) Awareness, Emptiness, and Javanese Selves: Jathilan Performance
in Yogyakarta, Indonesia. Asia Pacific Journal of Anthropology 4 (1-2): 54–71.
Bubandt, N. (2019) Spirits as Technology: Tech-Gnosis and the Ambivalent Politics of
the Invisible in Indonesia. Contemporary Islam. Dynamics of Muslim Life 13 (1):
103–120.
Burridge, K. O. L. (1961) Kuda Kepang in Batu Pahat, Johore. Man 61: 33–36.
Christensen, P. (2014) Modernity and Spirit Possession in Java. Horse dance and its con-
tested magic. In: V. Gottowik (Ed). Dynamics of Religion in Southeast Asia: Magic
and Modernity. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, pp. 91-112.
Cribb, R. (2004) The Indonesian Massacres. In: S. Totten, W. Parsons and I. W. Charny
(eds). A Century of Genocide: Critical Essays and Eyewitness Accounts. Second Edi-
tion. New York: Routledge, pp. 233-260.
Foley, K. (1985) The Dancer and the Danced: Trance Dance and Theatrical Performance
in West Java. Asian Theatre Journal 2 (1): 28–49.
Geertz, C. (1960) The Religion of Java. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.
Groenendael van, V. M. C. (2008) Jaranan: The Horse Dance and Trance in East Java.

110
 P ART II • MYSTICAL AND MAGICAL BOUNDARIES OF RELIGION
Leiden: KITLV Press.
Guelden, M. (2017) Thailand: Spirits Among Us. Singapore: Marshall Cavendish.
Hardwick, P. A. (2014) Horsing around Melayu: Kuda Kepang, Islamic Piety and Iden-
tity Politics at Play in Singapore’s Malay Community. Journal of the Malaysian
Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society 87(1) (306): 1–19.
Hastanto, I. (2020) A District in Indonesia is Locking Quarantine Violators in ‘Haunt-
ed Houses’. Vice, 22. Available at: https://www.vice.com/en/article/939pp8/indo-
nesia-quarantine-violators-locked-haunted-house-punishment (accessed 24 June
2020).
Kartomi, M. J. (1973) Music and Trance in Central Java. Ethnomusicology 17 (2): 163–
208.
Keeler, W. (1987) Javanese Shadow Plays, Javanese Selves. Princeton, NJ: Princeton Uni-
versity Press.
Kim, H.-J. (2007) Reformist Muslims in a Yogyakarta Village: The Islamic Transforma-
tion of Contemporary Socio-Religious Life. Canberra: ANU Press.
Koentjaraningrat (1989 [1985]) Javanese Culture. Singapore, New York: Oxford Univer-
sity Press.
Marschall, W. (1995) Possession, Barongan, and Social Relief in a Central Javanese
Village, Indonesia Circle. School of Oriental & African Studies. Newsletter 23 (66):
100–108.
Mauricio, D. E. (2002) Jaranan of East Java: An Ancient Tradition in Modern Times. MA
Thesis, University of Hawaii at Manoa.
Makur, M. (2020) ‘Pocong’ out to Keep Residents in. The Jakarta Post. Available at:
https://www.thejakartapost.com/news/2020/04/02/pocong-out-to-keep-residents-
in.html (accessed 24 June 2020).
Mulder, N. (1983) Abangan Javanese Religious Thought and Practice. Bijdragen tot de
Taal-, Land- en Volkenkunde 139 (2/3): 260–267.
Mus, P. (2011) India Seen from the East. Indian and Indigenous Cults in Champa. Mel-
bourne: Monash University Press. [(1933) Cultes Indiens et Indigènes au Champa.
Bulletin de l’École française d’Extrême-Orient 33: 367–410.
Pemberton, J. (1994) On the Subject of ‘Java’. New York: Cornell University Press.
Peterson, D. (2020) Islam, Blasphemy, and Human Rights in Indonesia. The Trial of
Ahok. London: Routledge.
Picard, M. (2011) Introduction: ‘Agama’, ‘Adat’, and Pancasila. In: M. Picard, R. Madin-
er (eds). The Politics of Religion in Indonesia. Syncretism, Orthodoxy, and Religious
Contention in Java and Bali. New York, NY: Routledge, pp. 1-20.
Rapoport, E. (2018) Jathilan Horse Dance: Spirit Possession Beliefs and Practices in
Present-Day Java. IKAT: The Indonesian Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 2 (1):
1–17.

111
Rapoport, E. (2019) Touring spirits. Javanese trance dance in immigrant communi-
ties: Adaptive strategies and transformations of meaning. In: Proceedings of the 5th
Symposium: The ICTM Study Group on Performing Arts of Southeast Asia. Depart-
ment of Sabah Museum, Ministry of Tourism, Culture and Environment, Sabah,
Malaysia, pp. 90-92.
Ricklefs, M.C. (2012) Islamisation and its Opponents in Java: A Political, Social, Cultural
and Religious History, c. 1930 to the Present. Singapore: NUS Press.
Swazey, K.A. (2017) Shifting Waters in the Politics of Religion and its Impact on the Rights
of Indonesian Indigenous Communities. Yogyakarta: CRSC.
Wargadiredja, A. T. (2019a) Kids Keep Getting ‘Possessed by Spirits’ during Indonesia’s
High School Exams. Vice. Available at: https://www.vice.com/en/article/pannw9/
indonesian-kids-keep-getting-possessed-by-spirits-during-high-school-exams
(accessed 24 June 2020).
Wargadiredja, A. T. (2019b) Election Season is Boom Time for Indonesia’s Exorcists.
Vice. Available at: https://www.vice.com/en/article/7xgzx4/indonesia-election-sea-
son-exorcism-legislative-candidates-bribes-depression (accessed 24 June 2020).
Wessing, R. (2006) Community of Spirits: People, Ancestors, and Nature Spirits in
Java. Crossroads: An Interdisciplinary Journal of Southeast Asian Studies 18 (1):
11–111.
Wilson, L. (2011) Beyond the Exemplary Centre: Knowledge, Power, and Sovereign
Bodies in Java. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute (N.S.) 17: 301–317.
Yampolsky, P. (1995) Forces for Change in the Regional Performing Arts of Indone-
sia. Bijdragen Tot De Taal-, Land- En Volkenkunde 151(4): 700–725.

Eva Rapoport is a photographer and cultural anthropologist, originally from Russia

but for the past 7 years based in Southeast Asia, working on research of spirit pos-
session beliefs and practices in Javanese culture and developing photography projects
documenting traditional performances and festivities in the region. Currently Eva is a
research fellow with the Foundation for Southeast Asian Studies (Thailand) and PhD
student at the School of Arts, Sunway University (Malaysia).
E-mail: [email protected]
Website: https://jathilan.me/

112